The day was not unlike any other for Davis Krieg. He sat reclined in a leather chair, feet propped up on his office desk, glancing at the latest market trends displayed across an array of screens. Tall, athletic, and impeccably dressed in a custom-tailored suit, Davis radiated a polished, calculated confidence. This wasn’t surprising, given his position—Managing Director of Equity Investments at Blackbay Capital, a hedge fund with a global reach and a portfolio that could sway entire markets. His world was fast-paced and cutthroat, but he reveled in it. It was a universe crafted by the hands of people like him, where wealth flowed upwards and power accumulated among the few who knew how to wield it.

Davis leaned back in his sleek office chair, a small smirk playing on his lips as he thought back to his college days. Those were the years he loved most, back when the real world hadn’t yet set its restraints on him, and he could indulge in the games that shaped him. He’d been a big name in his fraternity—a real leader, in his own eyes—responsible for orchestrating some of the most infamous hazing events on campus. While others balked or hesitated, afraid to push limits, Davis thrived in the planning and performance of each ritual.

He took particular pleasure in the power dynamics that hazing provided, the way it let him break down the “pledges” piece by piece. One night in particular stood out: he’d arranged a grueling “loyalty challenge” involving a freezing pool plunge in the middle of winter. He’d watched, amused, as the pledges shivered and struggled, each one desperate for his approval, desperate to earn the “brotherhood” he dangled just out of reach. Davis had reveled in their discomfort, their desperation, and had felt only a rush of satisfaction knowing that he held their futures in his hands—at least, as far as they saw it.

To him, those days were about teaching hard truths: that the world was divided into those who give orders and those who take them. And Davis knew, without a doubt, which side he belonged to. The memory of those nights filled him with a smug kind of warmth. Hazing had been more than a ritual—it had been a way to prove himself, to show that he had what it took to lead, to rule over others who lacked the strength or grit to stand up to him.

Now, looking around his luxurious office, Davis felt the same thrill of dominance over his employees, his investments, his high-stakes deals. Everything he did was a continuation of those early lessons in power, of making it clear to everyone around him just how far above them he was.

In his hands, he held a glass of scotch as he scanned his phone, checking on his recent investments and mulling over plans for a yacht party in Ibiza. Just as he was contemplating how to dodge yet another charity gala, a sudden buzz filled the room. In the blink of an eye, the wall of screens, the leather chair, and the scotch faded from view, leaving only darkness—and then, a dim blue glow.

Davis found himself standing in an unfamiliar, shadowed space, surrounded by an eerie hum. He blinked as his eyes adjusted, taking in the strange architecture of the room, with rows of shimmering alien lights suspended from the ceiling, casting a cold, sterile glow on a small stage set up before him. Slowly, a group of figures materialized in the periphery, their pale blue skin glistening under the lights, wide bulbous eyes trained on him with an intensity that made Davis’s skin prickle. At the front of the group, standing proudly, was Xylox.

Davis, clearly disoriented but unwilling to show it, smoothed down his suit jacket and lifted his chin with a haughty air, meeting Xylox’s unblinking gaze. “Right. And where am I now, exactly?”

“Greetings, esteemed human of high financial aptitude,” Xylox began in his smooth, even tone. “You are presently a guest on Evenings with Earthlings, where we, the Terratarians, endeavor to understand your species. We were told that you possess unique knowledge of…wealth management and the accumulation of resources?”

A faint smirk tugged at Davis’s lips. “You could say that.” He relaxed a little, amused by the alien’s curious demeanor. “I’m in finance. My job is to make money, maximize returns for my clients. And let’s just say I’m quite good at it.”

The Terratarians leaned forward as Xylox continued. “To make money… for yourself, or others?”

“For others, technically. But you know how it is,” Davis chuckled, as if the alien would naturally understand. “More money I make for them, the more I make for myself.”

One of the other aliens, their features nearly identical to Xylox’s, raised a thin, translucent hand. “Does this process of generating wealth bring value to others in your society? Perhaps enhance their quality of life?”

Davis’s eyes narrowed slightly, the question catching him off guard. “Enhance quality of life?” He chuckled. “Listen, what I do isn’t about ‘enhancing quality of life.’ It’s about increasing capital. I help people who already have money make even more of it. Quality of life is… relative.”

Xylox’s antennae twitched. “And the others? Those who are not your clients—do they, too, benefit from this capital increase?”

Davis rolled his eyes. “Look, not everyone can be a winner. There’s a certain… order to things. People like me, we’re at the top because we’ve worked for it, made the right connections, and put in the hours. The rest of them? They’re just—” he paused, catching himself before he said something truly damning, but then continued with a shrug, “—well, they’re irrelevant. Not my problem.”

The aliens exchanged puzzled glances, their expressions flickering with mild discomfort. Xylox spoke again, a tone of confusion lacing his words. “So, in your world, there exists a significant separation between those who hold resources and those who do not. And this separation… you find it just?”

Davis’s face broke into a smirk. “Of course. It’s natural. Why should someone who hasn’t put in the work, who hasn’t taken risks, be rewarded the same as someone like me? If they wanted a better life, they’d have made better choices.”

“And these choices…” Xylox pressed, “are always possible? These others, as you call them, have the same opportunities as yourself?”

A flicker of impatience crossed Davis’s face. “Sure, some people are born with advantages. But life isn’t fair. You adapt, or you lose. Simple as that.”

The aliens absorbed this with some difficulty, their antennae vibrating slightly as they processed his words. Xylox tilted his head, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “Then, to clarify, in your structure, only those with wealth are deserving of wealth?”

“Exactly!” Davis replied, a triumphant note in his voice. “Those without it are dead weight, just dragging everyone else down.”

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The aliens were silent for a moment, their expressions growing increasingly serious. “And if this wealth, or the power that comes with it, could not be taken from you, would you still choose to help others?”

Davis chuckled, genuinely amused. “Why would I? I already told you—I’m in this for myself. People are responsible for their own lives. I’m not their caretaker.”

Xylox’s eyes blinked slowly, a slight frown forming on his smooth, alien brow. “Do you believe there is any value in contributing to the welfare of others? Or perhaps a shared purpose that benefits all members of your society?”

Davis’s expression hardened, his tone dripping with condescension. “Listen, if everyone just focused on themselves, things would be fine. The weak would fall away, and the strong would prosper. That’s how it’s supposed to work. Trying to lift others up just slows everyone down.”

The Terratarians looked at one another, their brows furrowed in what could only be understood as disbelief. After a tense silence, Xylox’s voice softened, tinged with a kind of pity. “And you are… content with this way of life?”

Davis snorted. “Content? I’m more than content. I’m successful. I’ve made it. I don’t need anyone else, and I don’t owe anyone else, either.”

One of the Terratarians leaned forward. “On our world, each member contributes to the whole, and in return, all are uplifted. No one is left behind because each individual’s role, no matter how small, is vital to the collective.”

Davis gave a dismissive laugh. “Well, that’s the difference between you and me. I don’t need to be a part of a collective. I’m self-sufficient. That’s the point—you work hard enough, play your cards right, you don’t have to answer to anyone.”

Xylox took a deep, almost meditative pause before speaking again, as if his next words required careful consideration. “In our society, we hold that true strength lies in mutual reliance. Your perspective seems… isolating, and dare we say, lonely.”

“Lonely?” Davis sneered, a glint of irritation sparking in his eyes. “Please. I have everything I could ever want. Power. Wealth. Freedom. I don’t need anyone else to validate me.”

The room fell into an uneasy silence as the aliens processed this. Xylox exchanged a brief look with his peers before turning his attention back to Davis, his expression unreadable. “Mr. Krieg, for your candid responses, we extend a gift—a token from our world. While it holds little value to us, we suspect it may offer some form of… insight for you.”

From a compartment beside him, Xylox produced a small, rectangular device, smooth and shimmering with a faint blue glow. He handed it to Davis, who eyed it with interest, turning it over in his hands.

“What’s this?” Davis asked, intrigued despite himself.

“It is a Reassurance Amplifier,” Xylox explained calmly. “It emits a subtle frequency that strengthens the bonds of mutual trust between individuals. On our world, we use it rarely, as our bonds of community are naturally strong. But for you, it may offer a reminder—of the value of connecting with others, should you ever find such a reminder necessary.”

Davis gave a dismissive snort. “Trust amplifier? Not my style, but… interesting. Thanks, I guess.” He pocketed the device with a smirk, glancing at the aliens with a mix of disdain and curiosity. “And don’t worry about me. I’m doing just fine.”

With another hum and a flash of light, he vanished from the ship, leaving the Terratarians alone, looking somber as they reflected on the strange individual they had just encountered. Xylox’s hand hovered over his notepad, and he jotted a final line: Earthly society holds wealth above connection, forsaking shared purpose for self-gain. Individual fulfillment, it seems, is measured in solitude.

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Davis, never one to let a rare object go unexploited, found himself at an exclusive private auction a week after his unusual encounter with the Terratarians. The Reassurance Amplifier had drawn curious glances from collectors and investors alike, many of whom had never seen anything like it. He presented it as a “cutting-edge alien tech prototype”—phrasing it that way only made the absurdity more appealing to the wealthy bidders who’d flown in, eager to buy a piece of mystery.

Standing near the polished podium, Davis eyed his competition with undisguised arrogance. Most here were merely “comfortable,” the sort who thought a few million was enough to secure a place among the truly powerful. To Davis, they were small-timers, insignificant in both ambition and worth. As far as he was concerned, they would never make it to the upper echelons where the true money resided—the money that could shake nations. He chuckled to himself as one buyer eagerly examined the amplifier, his designer suit failing to mask the desperate ambition of a social climber.

The bidding began, and Davis watched as it climbed higher, his anticipation rising. He had no intention of actually keeping this ridiculous gift; it was wasted on him. Trust? Bonds? Sentimental nonsense, meant for those who couldn’t climb on their own. These people clawed at each other to get ahead, yet they clung to the illusion of community and connection like it meant something. Pathetic.

As the bids crested seven figures, however, a different kind of tension filled the room. Two men in crisp suits and badges emerged quietly from the sidelines, moving deliberately toward him. Davis smirked, unphased, figuring he could slip out of whatever bureaucratic nonsense they threw at him. But as they seized his arm with surprising force, an icy realization prickled down his spine.

“This device has been classified as a matter of national security,” one of the agents intoned. “You’re under detention for possession and attempted sale of alien technology.”

Davis bristled, his composure cracking just slightly. “National security? I don’t care if it’s national security; I own that thing,” he sneered. “You don’t even understand its worth, much less deserve it. Why don’t you all leave this to the people who actually know what they’re doing?”

The agents remained impassive, unphased by his outburst, tightening their hold as they led him away. He couldn’t believe it—these faceless government grunts, likely living paycheck-to-paycheck, dared to interfere with him. With a seething disdain, he muttered under his breath, “All of this would be easier if people like you just... disappeared.”

As they escorted him out, the crowd averted their eyes, some even chuckling, amused by his predicament. It took every ounce of control for Davis not to lash out as they dragged him away from his prized sale, his contempt for the “lesser” people around him burning like a brand.

The agents moved Davis briskly down the marble hallway, the polished surfaces reflecting his distorted, retreating figure. With every step, the reality sank deeper: he was no longer in control. For the first time in years, Davis Krieg—master of markets, manipulator of wealth—found himself utterly helpless. His mind raced, toggling between fury and disbelief, and he struggled to comprehend how quickly his meticulously constructed world had collapsed. Alien technology? National security? None of it made sense. In his view, the government’s claim over the Reassurance Amplifier was just another power grab—a restriction imposed by those too timid or unimaginative to wield true influence. They couldn’t fathom its potential; they were too limited by regulations and bureaucracy to understand what he could have done with it.

As they led him outside, the hum of distant media crews waiting by the curb caught his attention, their cameras trained on the entrance like vultures circling a wounded beast. A sharp, sinking feeling gripped him. He’d always seen the press as tools, manipulable assets that helped shape public opinion. Now, he realized with a twinge of horror that he’d become their story—the powerful hedge fund manager taken down by forces beyond his reach. He could almost see tomorrow’s headlines: “Finance Giant Caught with Alien Technology.” He clenched his jaw, his usual swagger replaced by a tense, simmering rage. Was this how it would end?

Somewhere, behind his indignation, a sliver of doubt crept in. The Terratarians’ parting words returned to him, haunting him in their simplicity: True strength lies in mutual reliance. The concept had seemed laughable then, yet now he faced an empty, solitary reckoning. Stripped of his connections, his wealth, his influence, he was alone—and in this moment, he felt the absence of any true ally.